


The One Where You Are A Guinea Pig

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Animal Transformation, Castiel & Reader Friendship, Castiel Loves Guinea Pigs, Castiel's Car, Castiel's Trenchcoat, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Kiss, Fluff, Food, Hugs, Illustrated, M/M, POV Second Person, Pre-Slash, guinea pigs, nothing bad happens in this fic, set somewhere around 10x18 "Book of the Damned" but contains no major spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-29 03:10:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3880015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you're having a bad day/week/year/life, this fic is for you. You are an avid reader of Carver Edlund's Supernatural books, and you've just been transformed into a guinea pig by a witch. The real-life Castiel is about to rescue you from an alleyway and take you back to the bunker in his pocket. Very soon, you'll inadvertently become the only witness to a tender moment between your favourite angel and Dean.</p><p>(with art by lamppu!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where You Are A Guinea Pig

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lucymew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucymew/gifts).



> I try to make people feel better about themselves any way I know how. If that means writing a fic where the reader has an exceptionally good day, so be it. This fic is for my friend [cassammydean](http://cassammydean.tumblr.com/), but it's also for you. Yes, _you_. Go forth and enjoy ♥  
>  **Warning** for minor bad language.

From what you can tell, that witch turned you into some sort of rodent.

Yeah, for real, that just happened. Today isn’t turning out like you planned.

You huddle against the cardboard behind you, wrinkling your nose against the tart smell of the rain pitter-pattering down onto the grimy walkway. This alley is miles from fancy, and this cardboard box is kinda stinky. All you can hear is the rain smattering across the box. Sooner or later the top is going to collapse, and when that happens, you’re going to be miserable.

God, you’re probably a rat. You’re about three inches off the ground – that’s rat-sized, right? You lift up a paw and try and bend your head to look at it, but your neck isn’t all that maneuverable. Your paws sure look like rat paws, though.

With your track record, you probably deserved this. Only bad people get turned into rats. You must’ve done something terrible somewhere down the line.

You sigh, and it comes out as a wheeze. Weird. You try speaking, and it comes out as a squeak. You sound exactly like a dog’s chew toy.

Since you have nothing better to do than to wait out the downpour, you plonk yourself down on the cool cardboard and watch the droplets splash particles of dirt all over the place. A drainpipe gurgles nearby, spitting out a torrent of stormwater and carrying a wave of liquid past the open side of your box. The box moves, startling you – apparently you’re not heavy enough to hold the cardboard down, and you’re now sailing along past a ton of old junk, trash, and things that probably should’ve been recycled.

Right about now, you start to miss having an Internet connection. This would’ve made an excellent liveblog. If you ever get to be human again, maybe you’ll write a novel about your adventures.

Right now, that seems like a pretty big _if_.

Screw being a rat. Seriously.

Your box lodges itself directly under another drainpipe, and the noise is _deafening_. You hunch down, wishing your little paws were big enough to cover your floppy ears properly. You have maybe a minute before the box collapses, but the thought of stepping out into the rain fills you with more dread than the thought of being squished by a soggy lid. Everything is gross. Everything is horrible. You may as well accept your fate now.

But you’re not that kind of person. You’re not that kind of rat. Or whatever. Deep down you’re a fighter, and you’ve always known it, but nothing all that interesting ever happened to you until now. Maybe it’s finally time to prove you were meant to be born into a different life – the life of a hunter – and live on the edge like Dean, Sam, and Cas in the _Supernatural_ books.

There’s a dumpster within view – you could make that in one shot. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for a cold shower, then you dart out of the box and scramble across mud and oozy black stuff, your tiny feet slipping and skidding when you step in something you’d rather not think about—

A warm grip takes you around the middle, and suddenly your legs are moving madly but there’s nothing for them to touch. You’ve been abducted!

“Hello,” says a deep voice. You struggle, because this asshole isn’t holding you right, and what good ever came from being picked up by hands the same size as you? You squeak something very rude at your abductor, but he doesn’t seem to realise he’s being insulted.

“Do you need help, pig?” the man says.

‘Pig’? The hell’s that supposed to mean? How dare he!

Oh... wait. Pig. _Guinea_ pig. Well, that’s better than being a rat, at any rate.

The man turns you around in his hands, so you can see his face. He’s fair-skinned, blue-eyed, and his dark hair has been dampened by the rain. The first thing that crosses your mind is that he’s good-looking, but you’re a guinea pig right now so that’s awkward.

“Are you all right?” the man asks. He looks genuinely concerned.

You stop struggling, because the dude’s clearly not going to let go, and you don’t really want to scratch him in case he drops you. _Sure,_ you say, in a single sarcastic squeak. _Just let me go and I’ll go and hide under that dumpster right there._ That is, because it’s raining on your head, and you’re not a big fan of having wet fur. Unless this guy has a small umbrella in one of his trenchcoat pockets, you’re not interested.

“Hm,” the man murmurs, squinting.

 _What’s ‘hm’?_ you ask.

The man raises his eyebrows. “You understand me?”

As cool as it would be to become the world’s smartest guinea pig, you’d rather not risk it right now. So you blink and act dumb, licking your nose with your tongue. You struggle a bit more, playing the part.

The man looks slightly disappointed. He lowers his arms a bit, sheltering you from the rain with a hand. You’re surprised at his warmth, and something about the way he smells and holds you properly now keeps you from wriggling away. He reminds you of a teacher you had once, or maybe your dad. It’s a confusing feeling. Either way, his presence seems familiar.

“You wouldn’t happen to have seen a witch come this way, would you?” the man mutters, smiling down at you.

_You mean Rowena?_

The man squints again. “Yes...”

 _Crap,_ you think. So much for playing dumb. But a moment later, you realise something. _Wait... can you understand_ me _?!_

The man coughs out a surprised laugh. “You know what I’m saying, don’t you?”

_Um. Yeah. You got me. I hablos Ingles._

If anyone can help you become human again, chances are it’s the fella in the trenchcoat who looks remarkably like—

“I’m Castiel,” the man says. And he seems to mean it. Those blue eyes tell no lies.

 _Well, shit,_ you think. First the witch and now the angel. You always suspected your favourite book series was secretly a legit IRL case study. The coincidences were just _too_ coincidental. The earthquakes mentioned in the books a few years back really happened, for one thing, then more recently came the influx of missing people returning to their lives, claiming they were possessed by angels... Oh, the _Supernatural_ fandom would have a collective aneurism if they knew. Everyone’s been speculating for years – Becky Rosen’s theories caught on pretty quick, but she wasn’t the first to come up with the idea.

So unless this guy is a fantastically good cosplayer with a knack for animal communication, you’re inclined to believe he really is Castiel. _Awesome,_ you smile. You’ll save the freakout for later. Unless this turns out to be some wild dream, maybe today isn’t as catastrophic as you originally thought.

Castiel smiles back at you. “I think you need a bath. You’re covered in... I don’t even know what this is.”

Castiel sets a finger on your furry forehead, and with a puff of freshness, you feel brand new. You squeak in surprise, waggling your tiny feet about. You’re all clean and shiny now, and it feels amazing. Angel mojo is nothing if not impressive.

“Better?” Castiel asks.

 _Much,_ you squeak. You blink a few times, eyelids heavy. Being clean is such a relief that you now feel the way you do after a shower, all chilled out, warm and sleepy. _I wouldn’t mind a nap, actually,_ you mumble.

“You’ll have plenty of time to sleep once I get to my car,” Castiel replies kindly, already moving you towards one of his pockets. He slips you into his coat, and you sink down to the bottom of his pocket. It’s dark and warm and dry, and it’s surprisingly roomy. You oughta get a coat like this, you think. Pockets are great.

“Hold on,” Castiel says softly, covering his pocket with a hand. You feel a whooshing sensation, like you’ve just dropped from the top of a rollercoaster – and all at once, it’s over. Castiel lifts his hand, and starts walking, making the coat sway about.

You stand up on your hind legs and poke your nose out, sniffing the air. You’ve left the alleyway. In fact, you’ve left your hometown. You just _teleported_. You can smell a nearby road. Cars, vehicle fumes. The air temperature is about the same as before, but it’s not raining here.

Castiel bends at the waist and pops open the door to his car, and you’re filled with a fresh burst of excitement. The book series ended before Cas got a car! You wish you knew more about cars, because there are people in the fandom who would give anything to know exactly what make and model this is. It has creamy leather seats, and it smells the same as Cas’ pocket. Sort of like laundry, or a fancy eco soap from the supermarket. A minor woodsy note, perhaps.

“Comfortable?” Castiel asks, closing the door, then cupping his hand around your pocket.

 _Very,_ you say, peering up at him. He’s so big and pretty. Your little guinea pig heart isn’t built for this kind of emotional onslaught.

“Perhaps this is a strange question,” Castiel starts, “but... may I pat you?”

You blink. You hesitate to answer, but then you figure it’s _Cas_. If he wants to pet a guinea pig, he should be allowed to pet a guinea pig. _Oh, why not,_ you smirk. Hey, if you’re going to be stuck like this for a while, you may as well get into the swing of guinea pig-ness.

Castiel reaches out a finger and gives you a little tickle behind your head, and you close your eyes and laugh, your feet kicking because that _tickles_. Castiel chuckles and stops, then strokes your nose.

“We’ll get you back to normal soon enough,” he promises. “Then you’ll have to tell us all about what Rowena did.” He leans back in his leather seat, reaching for his car’s ignition. He turns the key until the car _vroom_ s to life, then he sets his hands on the wheel at ten and two o’clock. You watch the murky daylight shift through the semi-clean windows as Castiel pulls out of his parking spot and angles the car towards the road. The rumbling of the engine evens out once you get into the roadway.

Castiel sighs as you cruise along, buildings whooshing past the passenger window. “Rowena’s been turning people into small animals for a couple of weeks now,” he explains as he drives. “My friends and I have been doing our best to hunt her down. We find her victims, set them right, then take them back home as soon as they’ve recovered. This is how she’s been covering her tracks – she thinks by turning people into animals she’s keeping us from finding witnesses. But...” Castiel glances down at you, smiles, then looks back out at the road, “I know how to find a critter or two, and she never expected that. So don’t worry. I don’t know who you are or what you did to offend her, but you’ll be all right.”

You sigh in relief, a slow breath easing out of you until you feel small enough that you might get lost in that big pocket. You inhale, feeling your fluffy sides fill out the material again. You wonder what you look like, all tiny and fuzzy. What colour are you, even? All you can see is your furry tummy, and the dim light doesn’t make it easy to figure out the shade of your pelt.

You carry on watching Castiel as he drives. You have a million questions for him, but where are you meant to start? If the stories in the books are real, is Cas really an angel? How come he can teleport again, if he lost his wings? Did he get his wings back? And if angels exist, does God exist? Is there life after death? For that matter, does Death really like pickle chips, or was that detail a result of Carver Edlund taking artistic license?

You settle for staring, in awe of Castiel’s great control over the car. It’s such a small thing to enjoy, but you never imagined that the socially awkward, occasionally helpless celestial being could drive a car as well as a parent taking their kids home from school. And there’s the crux of it, too: Cas is protecting you, and he’s taking you someplace special. If the world is full of monsters, there really is nowhere safer than Castiel’s pocket.

After a while, you become lulled by the purr of the engine, the warmth of Castiel’s body, and the soft pattern of his breath. He’s not talkative, but you don’t mind. He exists and that’s enough. You settle closer to his hip, nuzzling against the sheer pocket lining.

You feel something sturdy beneath you, and you realise it’s an angel blade. Cas must keep that tucked into his belt when it’s not stuffed up his sleeve. Castiel may be odd, but he’s also fierce and scary, and brave enough to carry a giant knife around, always expecting to use it. You feel like he’s more than you’ll ever amount to as a person, but he’s also a role model, in a way. You want to be brave like Cas. Be thoughtful like Cas, be kind like Cas. You want to put sad guinea pigs in your pockets and take them home, like Cas.

You find a more comfortable position, and you curl up to take a nap. Naps are good for the health, you say to yourself. Naps are important when you’ve spent your day as a guinea pig. Even guinea pigs need naps.

You sleep, and you dream about organising laundry in a sunny room.

You’re human again, and despite being bigger than you were as a rodent, Castiel still seems taller than you ever expected. He stands at your side and helps you sort the light fabrics from the darks, and he puts aside the woollens for later, because there aren’t enough for a full load.

Everything is soft to the touch. Gentle fibres, thick wool against your skin. The air around you smells pleasant, and you’ve never breathed as easily as you do now.

You pull a pair of Dean’s pink, satiny panties from the bottom of the laundry basket, and you glance towards Castiel to see if he noticed.

Castiel smiles gratefully and takes them from you, putting the slip of fabric together with the wools. “I suspect these need a gentle wash,” he says, then hands you the empty basket and tells you to go and sit down. He’s got this covered, and you don’t need to worry. He smiles and he touches your arm; his hand is reassuring.

It’s a good dream. One of the best you’ve ever had, and not really because of what happens, but because of how it feels. It’s warm, and incredibly comforting.

There’s a sparkly pink-and-gold haze lingering over your vision as you wake up, and despite the fact you’re still a guinea pig, you smile.

“Almost there,” Castiel says softly. He’s keeping his voice down because he doesn’t want to disturb you. But you’re awake already, so you wriggle out of Castiel’s pocket and blink quickly so your vision adjusts to the light. The car bumps over a woodchip road, the tires crackling over sticks. Green trees fill the view through the window, their leaves blustering in a slight breeze.

 _Where are we?_ you ask, yawning.

“This is a top secret location; I can’t tell you that,” Castiel says, turning at an angle, then bringing the car to a stop. “But this is where I call home.” He looks down at you, a pleased shine in his eye. “My friends live here. Their names are Dean and Sam Winchester, and they can help you. We have a spell that’ll make you human again – we’ve done it before.”

You nod, pretending you’re shivering because it’s chilly in the car, not because you’re unbelievably excited to be meeting Sam and Dean and Cas _all in one day_. You’ve gotta be the luckiest guinea pig alive.

“Are you ready to go in?” Castiel asks, stroking your head.

You nod, nosing playfully at Castiel’s thumb. He chuckles, then opens the car door and pulls himself to his feet. He straightens up, and the force dumps you to the bottom of his pocket. You stand on your hind legs like before, poking your head out with your front paws over the pocket’s edge.

Castiel carries you towards a hollowed-out depression in a leafy hillside; a concrete building looms out from between the trees. You realise at once what this is: this is the Men of Letters’ bunker. _It’s real_.

You try and take in as much information as possible as Castiel opens the underground door, and it groans on its hinges. The two of you follow a dark corridor, emerging onto a metal balcony, standing over the war room with the map table. Nothing here is how you pictured it, but now you’ve seen this place, there’s no other way you could imagine it in the future. All your headcanons for the bunker are hereby overwritten by reality.

Surprisingly, none of your headcanons for Cas have changed. He’s just the same as you pictured. Maybe a bit more handsome than you ever thought possible, but that’s a relatively minor detail.

Castiel takes you down the stairs at the side, his feet clanking on the metal. You can see the empty library from here. Dean and Sam aren’t anywhere to be seen. Where are they, then? Maybe their bedrooms?

With a buzz of excitement in your belly, you wonder what Dean and Sam will look like. You’ve read a hundred descriptions – hundreds more if you count fanfic – but as every fan-artist draws the boys differently, every reader sees something else in their mind’s eye.

By now, Castiel has brought you to the biggest wooden table in the library, and his hand curls around the neck of a lamp to switch it on. Golden light touches the gloss on the table and puts a wonderful glow on Castiel’s skin. He takes you out of his pocket and puts you on the table, and you sniff around. Perhaps you’re imagining it, but you’re sure you can sense all those centuries of history ingrained in the table. All the book pages turned, all the arguments played out and all the unions forged. You can definitely smell food, too: there’s a few crumbs here and there where someone failed to sweep up after breakfast. Probably Dean.

“Sam and Dean will be back soon,” Castiel said, sitting at a chair and taking his trenchcoat off. “They must’ve gone shopping, we were out of cereal. Dean gets... _possessive_ about his cereal.” His words exhibit fondness and grouchiness in equal amounts, accompanied by both a smile and a sideways eye-roll.

While you’re overjoyed to know Dean is as enthusiastic about his food as he is in the books, you’re also somewhat disappointed, because you wanted to meet him and Sam _now_. But, however much it pains you, patience is still a virtue. The longer you stay a guinea pig, the longer you get to spend in the company of your not-so-fictional heroes. Plus, maybe you’ll get to watch Dean eat cereal once he gets back.

“Now,” Castiel says, putting his hands on the table and beckoning with crooked fingers. “I can’t keep calling you ‘pig’. What’s your real name?”

 _Well, it’s definitely not Pig,_ you say, scooting towards him.

“You know, there’s someone you remind me of,” Castiel says thoughtfully, linking his fingers together, palms warm around your back. “Have you ever read A. A. Milne’s _Winnie the Pooh_?”

You look up, curious why he’s asking. Castiel smiles, and goes on to say, “When I was carrying you around in my pocket, you were like Kanga’s baby, Roo.” His smile widens, and there’s a definite twinkle in his eye. “...Would you mind if I call you that? Roo?”

Honestly? There’s nothing you’d like better than to be called Roo by the sweetest, most badass angel in the garrison. You squeak affirmingly. (Why bother with words when it only comes out as beeping anyway?)

Castiel strokes the fur on your head over and over, and he beams. “Hello, Roo.”

A clank echoes from deep within the bunker, then a thump. “ _We’re home!_ ” comes a shout, and you’re thrilled that you somehow recognise Sam’s voice. Dean’s voice would be significantly gruffer, if the books are anything to go by.

“I’m in the library,” Castiel calls in his low, rumbly voice, leaning back in his chair, face turned towards the same entrance you came in. “I have company!”

He looks back at you, petting you again. “Sam and Dean will help reverse the spell, and you’ll be human again in no time.”

You waggle your ears in excitement. Once you’re human you’ll be able to fuss over Team Free Will in person!

Castiel’s eyes flick between the approaching figure and you, considering, but then he turns his attention completely to Sam. You squeak happily, seeing all that fabulous hair flowing about Sam’s shoulders. Words could never do those locks justice. He’s even more majestic in real life!

“Heya, Cas,” Sam says, going to pat Castiel on the shoulder. He’s so damn tall, he towers over the table and seems to dwarf the entire library. He smiles down at you, reaching out a finger, hoping to scratch one of your ears. You lean closer to make contact. “This another one of Rowena’s innocent victims?”

“Yes,” Castiel replies. “I’ve named this one Roo.”

“Getting attached, huh.” Sam smiles, retracting his hand from your cheek and setting it on Castiel’s shoulder instead, squeezing his suit jacket. “You know we can’t keep people as pets, Cas.”

“No, no, I know,” Castiel says, bobbing his head. He makes eye contact with you, and a smirk pulls at his lips. “I just have a feeling... this one’s special.”

Sam huffs, a warmth in his smile. “I’m sure you’re right.” He pulls away from Castiel, stepping back and heading the way he came. “We got takeout,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’m gonna go reheat it; back in a minute.”

He leaves via the war room, and Dean enters, throwing a playful punch at his brother’s side as they pass.

You’re stunned by Dean’s appearance. He’s nothing like the books describe – Edlund said Dean was _handsome_ , not _heart-stoppingly pretty_. He walks with an easy swagger and he trots down the marble stairs, a grin forming on his perfect Cupid’s-bow lips.

“Hey,” Dean chirps, shedding a blue canvas jacket and hooking it over the back of a chair beside Castiel. He’s wearing a plaid shirt in the colours of the bisexual flag underneath. You’re not even surprised. “We got some lunch,” he says, folding his sleeves to the elbows. “You want somethin’, buddy?”

“I don’t eat,” Castiel says.

“Nah, not you. I’m taking to your tribble there,” Dean grins, gesturing at you. “What do tribbles eat, anyway?”

“This is a guinea pig, not a tribble,” Castiel corrects, sheltering you from Dean’s fingerpoke with a hand. “And they’re a human person, Dean, you can’t just _poke_ them.”

 _Yeah. What he said,_ you squeak, attempting to raise an eyebrow.

Dean looks amused and taken aback at the same time. “Cute.”

At a loss for better ways to communicate your response, you stick your tongue out at him. Dean grins and plants his hands on his hips. “You know what, Cas – I like this one.”

“I like this one too,” Castiel grins, his eyes crinkling up at the sides. He hesitates. “You know, I’m not sure why, but... I think I like this one more than the others. I know a good soul when I see it.”

Dean’s affectionate grin is dazzling. For a moment, you’re not even sure if he’s smiling because of you or Cas, but then, his eyes meet Castiel’s – _aha_. It might’ve been yours before, but Dean’s smile is for nobody but his angel now. Dean, with the good soul. Castiel, who knows a good soul and loves it unconditionally.

You keep quiet in case you disturb this wonderful moment. These two are ridiculous.

Then, Dean breathes out and runs a hand back through his hair. “So, me ‘n Sam are starving. You mind if we eat?”

Castiel checks with you, sees you nod, then glances up at Dean. “Go right ahead.”

“So what do tribbles eat?”

 _I’ll eat whatever you’ve got,_ you say, putting your paws up on Castiel’s hand.

Castiel smiles. “If you have a small plate spare, a guinea pig-sized serving would be appreciated.”

“Gotcha,” Dean says, his hand swinging to touch Castiel’s shoulder. He lets go right away, but you can’t help but notice the difference between Dean’s touch and Sam’s touch. Sam’s was friendly and warm, but Dean’s seemed awkward and almost unnecessary. Kind of like he wanted to touch but wasn’t sure how to do it.

Still, the moment’s over, and Dean is already walking away. You wish you could’ve captured the last minute in animated GIF form so you could watch it over and over, but until scientists make GIFs out of your memories, you’ll have to make do with replaying it over and over in your mind alone. You sigh shakily, watching Dean saunter off, presumably towards the kitchen.

Dean and Sam come back with food less than a minute later. The feast is spread before you, boxes and bags and cartons stacked and spread over a quarter-section the library’s table. Your belly rumbles in anticipation. Huh. When did you get so hungry?

You eat heartily. Well, there’s really no other way to eat, not today. Dean and Sam seem to have brought home a box from every takeout place they passed. You eat noodles and stir fry and couscous and candy and bean sprouts and _ketchup_ and bread and butter and cucumber and something with cheese on it; all that and more – there’s no restriction on what you can eat, you’re not allergic to anything in this tiny animal body, and you savour (properly _savour_ ) eating things you’ve never tried before, as well as things you never liked. It’s truly a fresh perspective on food. The fact that Dean seems impressed at the amount you can put away is only a secondary bonus.

“Your furry pig is awesome,” Dean mutters, shaking his head in awe as he tosses back another fry.

“I named my ‘furry pig’ Roo,” Castiel says, just as Dean puts a white cardboard box on the table. Castiel has to snatch you up before you can scamper head-first into the astonishingly large cheesecake that Dean reveals from inside the box. You struggle, attempting to get closer to the cake, but Castiel holds you back, warm hands cupped around your back. “No, Roo, you’ll get a stomach ache.”

 _I can deal with a stomach ache!_ you squeal, making grabby-paws at the cake.

Dean laughs, head tipping back, and he almost drops a dollop of whipped cream down his front. He catches the blob in time and sucks it off his hand, eyes still alive with laughter. Sam’s chuckling too. He’s still on his main course, slicing something leafy and green with a knife and fork.

“How about I cut you a small piece, huh,” Dean offers, grinning as he runs the knife through the cake and digs out a piece only an inch wide. He puts it on a saucer and slides it along the table so you can get at it. Castiel lets you go, and you smash your muzzle into the cake and lick a huge glob into your mouth, absorbing every delicious particle into your being. Your whole body blazes with a fantastic inner joy. The crust is a perfect thickness in relation to the filling; though the cream on top is softening, nothing is soggy, and everything is sweet. The taste of strawberry is sumptuous on your tongue, and when you swallow, it goes down as smoothly as smooth can get. There’s no question about it: it’s the best thing you’ve ever eaten. While you were sure until now that Dean preferred to eat pie, clearly, when he wants cake, he sure knows how to choose them.

You lick your plate clean, humming happily at the aftertaste left on your tongue. Your tummy is perfectly satiated. Like, _perfectly_. You’ve eaten exactly the right amount.

When your plate is sparkling, you look up just in time to see Dean smile at Castiel, his eyes an exquisite green, his freckles enhanced by the pull in his skin. You look from Dean to Cas, becoming starry-eyed when you see Castiel gazing back, a tenderness in his expression that seems to block out the rest of the world, like nothing else matters except Dean’s smile.

You then look at Sam, and Sam looks back. He shrugs with his lips, in a _what can you do?_ sort of way. Apparently he’s used to dead air while Dean and Cas are busy staring. This sort of phenomenon was described in the _Supernatural_ books on occasion, but you never realised that when it happens for real, it gets... _intense_. There’s a definite feeling of intimacy between the two of them. As much as you adore seeing them interact, you actually feel like you’re intruding.

But, their staring contest ends in as unprompted a manner in which it began, and the stillness shatters and the silence breaks. Dean digs his fork into his cheesecake and eats it contentedly, Castiel stretches his legs out, and Sam munches on salad, as if not a single second has passed.

You sit, you clean your whiskers, and you simply enjoy their company. They chat between themselves, about Rowena, and about turning you human again. They talk about the ingredients they need for a specific spell or a potion, and it’s all utterly fascinating but they could be talking about life on Mars for all you care; all you need to see is the way Dean and Castiel’s shoulders roll as they lean towards each other, the way Dean slides his hand to brush Castiel’s as he passes him a slice of cake he won’t eat; you could watch their mouths move into smiles and you’d be happy. They’re alive and real and this definitely isn’t a crazy too-good-to-be-true dream. Team Free Will and you.

Soon enough, Sam gets to his feet and starts clearing plates away, still chewing the cake in his mouth. Dean goes off to get magical ingredients, and when he comes back to the library, Sam’s on his way out, arms stacked with plates and trash and empty bowls all the way to his shoulders. He walks slowly and carefully.

Castiel thumps a giant book onto the library table, one hand swiping away dust from the surface. “Ten minutes and we’ll have you back to normal, Roo.”

“Make that ten _hours_ ,” Dean adds, frowning into a battered cardboard box which he sets down beside the book. “Or longer. We’re out of wormwood root.” He lifts a glass jar and shakes it about, rattling a small, dusky offcut of a plant. “There’s enough here for something tiny, like a mouse or a baby bat, maybe – not a guinea pig.” He looks over at you apologetically. “Sorry, buddy. You’re stuck like that until we can dig up some more. We grow a crop here at the bunker, but we gotta harvest it at noon.” His shoulders slump and he puts the mostly-empty jar back into the box. “Man, this sucks.”

“It’s all right,” Castiel says. He reaches a hand towards you, stroking his fingers along your back. “I don’t mind taking care of Roo for another day.”

Dean side-eyes Castiel, but says nothing. He looks away with a smile flitting across his face, there one second and gone the next.

Castiel swallows, his gaze still set on you as his hand moves to soothe you. You peer up at him, smiling bravely. _I’ll be fine,_ you assure him. _Being a guinea pig isn’t the end of the world._

Considering the situation as a whole, you don’t feel as disappointed as Dean seems to think you should be. Being a guinea pig has had its perks. When else would you be able to eat quarter your body weight in cheesecake, huh? Quite frankly, you have few qualms with being kept away from boring, everyday life for a while longer. Being human would mean going home, and if being a guinea pig means hanging around with Team Free Will, you’ll take what you can get.

Castiel sees your indifference, and when he smiles, you think he probably gets it.

“I’ve had a thought, Dean,” Castiel says, casually as anything.

Dean’s busy arranging ingredients, alchemy bottles and jars of powder, but he looks up when Castiel speaks. “Did it hurt?”

“What?”

Dean grins. “Having a thought. Did it hurt?”

You snort in amusement. Dean’s making dad jokes. _You’d make a good father, Dean_ , you say quietly. (You’ve always wanted to tell him. In your occasional fantasies, telling him usually involved vehement disbelief on his part, so you always ended up squishing his cheeks in your hands and speaking slowly and clearly, but you’ve said it now, so it’ll do.)

Castiel squints at you, but he didn’t get the context of your muttering, so carries on without responding. “No,” he says to Dean. “No, it didn’t hurt.”

Dean scoffs and continues sorting ingredients, eyes down. “So what was this thought, then?”

“Only that... having a guinea pig. Having a pet... it’s nice. It’s comforting.”

“Comforting,” Dean repeats. “Yeah, okay. But we’re not getting you a cat, Cas. _Or_ a guinea pig. I mean, how are we meant to look after it when we’re off hunting? Pets are a responsibility—”

“I know!” Castiel interrupts. “I – I know,” he says again, more softly. He exhales in a huff. “ _You’re_ bad enough to care for, I wouldn’t have the time for another pet.” His eyes sparkle, amused by his own joke.

Dean grins, a quiet chuckle breaking from his throat.

Castiel lowers his eyes. “But getting a pet, that wasn’t what I meant, per se.”

“Then what did you mean?” Dean asks, taking a pestle and mortar to grind up some kind of herb.

Castiel’s eyes turn to you, and he offers a hand, palm up. You realise he wants you to crawl into his hand, and you have no reason to hang back, so you waddle forwards, setting yourself in the middle of his palm. He cups both hands around you and lifts you gently, holding you steadily in front of his chest. He smiles as he strokes your cheeks, smoothing fur and whiskers outwards from under your eyes. “What I mean is... it’s nice to have someone to talk to.”

“You talk to me and Sam. And Charlie.”

“Yes...”

“But?”

“But,” Castiel went on, choosing his words carefully, “Talking isn’t enough. I wish I had someone who I could touch, to show affection.”

Dean blinked rapidly, then stopped grinding herbs. “You mean like... hugging, right?”

Castiel looked across at him. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“Does it have to be small and fluffy, or...?”

He trailed off, but Castiel tilted his head and shook it ever so slightly, pretending he didn’t know what Dean was implying.

Dean licked his lips, and finished. “Would a human do? For hugs?”

Castiel’s smile was radiant. “Yes.”

You swoon a little bit. This is too darn fluffy for words. Good thing it’s Cas holding you and not the other way around, because you probably would’ve dropped everything you were holding in order to freak out. As is, the pressure builds until you can’t bear it, and you squee in delight.

Your squeak reminds Castiel that you exist and he hurriedly puts you back down on the table. You swagger off to sit in the middle, facing Dean and Cas, observing their slightly awkward moment of silence.

“So... uh,” Dean says, running his palms down the sides of his shirt and onto his thighs. Is he sweating nervously or just trying to find something to do with his hands? “You wanna hug now, or what?” he asks, holding up his arms.

Castiel steps forward, but suddenly Dean seizes up, edging back by a nigh-imperceptible inch. His eyes dart over to you, self-consciousness radiating from his person like he’s nuclear. Oh, of course – he feels awkward with you watching.

You act casual, getting up and sniffing around the table. Your OTP might be about to hug, and as much as you’d like to watch every millisecond take place, if you’re watching then it might never happen. You’re totally taking one for the team right now.

Dean seems to relax a bit, now that you’re facing away. “Um.”

You can’t help it – you look back over your furry shoulder, and a floaty feeling of anticipation steals over you: Castiel is lingering close to Dean, arms ready to accept him. But the moment Dean inches closer, he panics and steps back. “You can’t just _manufacture_ a hug, Cas,” he says breathily. Oh, he’s nervous. Definitely scared of something. Scared he’ll like it? Scared he needs it more than Cas does? “Hugs are meant to be spur-of-the-moment and full of – you know... _passion_. Or some kind of feeling, at least.”

“What are you feeling?” Castiel asks with a concerned frown.

“What?” Dean smacks his lips; his mouth must have gone a little dry.

“What are you feeling right now?” Castiel encouraged.

Dean huffs dismissively. “I feel like this is a freakin’ waste of my time, that’s what I feel,” he says, shrugging away and getting back to crushing herbs. He grinds with a harsher force than before, a deep frown stuck between his eyebrows.

“Dean,” Castiel says gently. _So_ gently. He’s close to Dean’s back, just to his side. Dean must be able to feel his breath on his shoulder, then the slide of Castiel’s fingers as he moves his hand to cover Dean’s. “Dean, come away from that, you can do it later.”

Clearly the situation has become more than an offhanded discussion about guinea pigs – now Dean is annoyed and insecure, and maybe Castiel really did mean what he said. Maybe he does want to show affection in a way he hasn’t done before.

Dean lets Castiel turn him around without offering any resistance at all. Almost like he _wanted_ to be pulled away. Wanted to be comforted...

You’re guessing all of this, of course – you can’t know their feelings. But it’s happening right in front of your eyes, and there’s no mistaking the flutter of Dean’s eyelashes or the slow gaze that somehow magnetises to Castiel’s lips. When people look at each other like that in movies, it means something. When Dean looks at Cas like that, it means that same something.

“Dean,” Castiel murmurs again, stroking his thumb over Dean’s cheek, the same way he did for you. But it’s different with Dean, because it’s _Dean_. Dean’s the one Cas gave everything for, and gives everything for again and again, every day. Every fanfic ever written about these two got it right: the angel fell and Icarus flew and when they crash-landed, they created a big, chaotic mess. Never was a mess so beautiful.

It’s just a hug. Maybe you’re reading too much into it. Maybe they’re best friends, no more...

But they haven’t even hugged yet, and they’re still _gazing_ at each other.

 _Oh, just kiss already,_ you lament, sagging over the table.

Castiel hears – his eyes snap to you, then back to Dean – but he doesn’t respond. At least not to you. “Hug me,” he says to Dean, the words full of hope. It’s not an instruction, but Dean takes him up on it anyway.

Castiel sighs once Dean’s arms are around him. Wide hands clasp Castiel’s back, Dean’s chin hooked over his shoulder. Castiel’s arms link over Dean’s shoulders, squeezing Dean’s upper arms down.

Dean chuckles. “This is awkward.”

“No, it isn’t,” Castiel says quietly.

“Yes, it is. What is this, five seconds? ...Ten? Hugs aren’t meant to be this long.”

“Hugs are as long as you need them to be, Dean,” Castiel says irritably.

“Well, I’m done with this one,” Dean snaps, wriggling out of Castiel’s embrace. He’s frowning and tense, jerking loose and returning to his pestle and mortar. You didn’t think it was possible for him to look bigger than he already is, but he does; his shoulders are squared and his guard is way, way up. He’s practically fluffed up like an angry cat.

This is all going horribly wrong. You just want to be normal-sized again so you can grab their stupid faces and smush their stupid mouths together.

But you watch Dean’s face, and your heart breaks a little when you realise that frown and the tension in those sturdy shoulders were nothing but a pretence for escape. Dean must’ve forgotten you’re watching, because you see the exact moment when his shoulders begin to slump and his frown clears away to a distant-eyed expression of longing and regret. You can’t bear the manpain, and yet it’s satisfying to see because it means there’s some real _meaning_ here. Dean’s upset because he wants to hug Cas but something holds him back – the outdated ideals of hypermasculinity, at a guess.

Castiel waits at Dean’s back. Just waits.

He waits until Dean stops mashing herbs, then gathers himself up enough to make his eyes focus on something other than the table. Castiel goes on waiting until Dean takes a deep, deep breath, turns his gaze up to the ceiling of the library (eyes a bit watery, you note) – then spins around.

Dean slams into Castiel and grips him hard, squeezes the breath out of him and carries on squeezing until Castiel responds. Castiel smiles first, then wraps his hands under each of Dean’s arms and wrangles him into a more comfortable position.

Then, Dean relaxes. He shuts his eyes, and he sighs. His cheek rests gently on Castiel’s shoulder, his face turned outward. Castiel rubs his back.

You wish you had a camera so bad right now. Nobody’s ever going to believe you. But, you admit, that makes it special. You are the single, solitary witness to this magical moment.

“So... how long’s this one gonna last?” Dean mumbles, turning his head so his nose rests on Castiel’s shoulder, buried in cloth.

Castiel cradles the back of his head, fingers spread. “Until you pull away.”

“What if we stuck around so long I fell asleep or somethin’?” Dean jokes, grinning as he noses at the collar of Castiel’s suit jacket.

“Then... I would carry you to bed,” Castiel says simply.

Maybe it’s a minor detail, but it doesn’t escape your notice that Dean’s hand grips Castiel’s waist a little tighter when he hears that.

“And,” Dean says, before swallowing. He’s nervous again. “And what if—”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Would you, uh... Would the hug be over then, once you’ve carried me to bed?”

Castiel blinks a few times, as surprised as you are by Dean’s candor. “No, I suppose – if you wanted to carry on... uh, _hugging_ while you’re asleep—”

“Okay.”

Castiel’s eyebrows rise. “Okay?”

Dean nods, hiding his face against Castiel’s neck. “I’m tired.”

“You want to go now?”

“No, I mean...” Dean lifts his head, meeting Castiel’s eyes. They’re still clinging to one another. “I’m tired of acting like we shouldn’t be doing this.”

A twinkle appears in Castiel’s eyes. “Hugging, you mean.”

“Yeah.” Dean clears his throat. “Hugging.”

“Including in bed.”

Dean’s breath catches. “Uh.” A tiny, bashful grin flits across his face, and he lowers his eyes.

Castiel chuckles, then leans in and kisses Dean quickly. On the _lips_. “Let’s go and hug somewhere else, how about that?” He glances over at you, and his a smile widens, a deep happiness seemingly illuminating him from his very core. “Somewhere more... private.”

You give him a bold salute, because even as a guinea pig you still know what to do with your limbs. Your OTP just had a real goddamn _moment_ , and you were _physically present_. ‘Awesome’ doesn’t even cover it.

You watch in starstruck awe as Castiel leads Dean off by the hand, a smug smile on his face. Dean just looks bewildered and stunned, as if he didn’t realise he had the moxie to allude to their romantic/sexual/emotional tension out loud. He also looks about as eager to see what’s in store as a puppy about to be taken out for his first walkies.

Sooner or later the two of them are going to be cuddling in bed, and you can’t help but feel like it’s partially your doing. You’re _proud_ of yourself.

To be honest, you were proud of yourself before any of this happened, too. At least, you should’ve been. Back home, you’ve made a decent impact on your corner of the world. Isn’t today just another wacky event in a lifelong chain of events? Today’s adventures will become a stepping stone on the way to greater things, you hope. Once you’ve inadvertently gotten your One True Pairing together in real life, there’s nowhere to go but up.

Sam comes back in a minute later, only to find the library empty but for a barely-started magic spell and a self-satisfied guinea pig.

“Where’d they go?” Sam asks you, but when you reply with the truth, he doesn’t understand your squeaking. You settle for pointing at the door that leads to the bedrooms, then miming a hug.

At first Sam squints in confusion, but then his eyes widen, and he smiles, a quiet laugh tumbling out of him. “It’s about time,” he says, eyebrows lifting.

And so it is.

With all that said and done, you think your capacity for adventure is at its limit for the day. Things are fun as a guinea pig, but they’re easier as a human. The responsibility and worry that come with humanity await you – but so does the good stuff: you look forward to writing a full tumblr report on your findings, eating a bigger slice of Dean’s cheesecake, as well as getting the hell out of here and accepting a warm welcome from the folks at home. You miss them, now you think about it.

Sam goes to the box of spell ingredients, and checks the labels over again. You crawl closer and push the wormwood over to him, tapping the side to indicate it’s nearly empty. Sam picks up the jar and looks at it, then sighs. “Shoot. And I thought Dean gave up because he got distracted.” He smiles tensely at you. “We can get some more tomorrow. Can you hang in there until then?”

You nod, then shrug. You’re not too bothered, but neither are you ecstatic.

Sam smirks. “How about I show you around the bunker to pass the time?”

You brighten up immediately, jumping once on the spot. Sam laughs, then offers a hand for you to sit on. You plonk yourself in his wide palm and let him sweep you away.

“We’ll tiptoe past once we get to Dean’s room,” Sam says matter-of-factly. “Can’t have him and Cas getting cold feet because they hear us lurking around outside.”

Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but you wonder if you might hear some compromising noises coming from Dean’s room. With that thought, you feel especially pleased that a guinea pig’s hearing is better than a human’s. It’s no surprise, really, but you feel like this curse has turned out to be more of a blessing in disguise.

Your regular life awaits you, but... not yet. You can easily put up with this for tonight.

It’ll be a damn good night.

{ _**the end**_ }

**Author's Note:**

> If this fic put even a smidgen of happiness in your soul, please let me know! Leave me kudos or a comment (grab an image off google and show me how you imagine yourself as a guinea pig??), or come say hi on [tumblr](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/) ♥
> 
> ★ [lamppu's illustration on tumblr](http://lamppudraws.tumblr.com/post/118187246290)  
> ★ [paintingmouse's illustration on tumblr!](http://paintingmouse.tumblr.com/post/117668280187/taking-a-nap-on-the-trench-coat)  
> (Thank you both so much! All my love and thanks to my betas, too~)


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